Flora wins ISA Poetry Competition

Posted: 14th March 2022

My Big Mouth Poem
We are so proud of Year 11 student Flora who has just won the Senior Category of the ISA Poetry Competition.
Author Steven Camden who judged the final round of the competition says of her poem:
“Holy smokes. This was stunning. So much to unpick. I can feel the thought and feeling that you have poured into this. Amazing”
Here is her poem.

My Big Mouth

Another name in the firing range, a target in sights, distant confrontation

Like a drone strike, with fingers on the trigger

A volley of vicious vowels, sadistic sibilance to cut deep in thick skins

A constant cacophony of consonants attacks.


Alliteration wounds the weak, a stream of assonance filling eyes, spilling tears

Such pain cannot be spelled out, no weapons available to defend

Trapped in tongue tied torture. The silence speaks for itself.


‘Ugly’ ‘fat’ ‘disgusting’ ‘kill yourself’ – the combat continues for evermore

The attacks like incessant waves, pounding fragile shores

Enemies advance further as the vanquished retreat in panic, their world crumbling.


Reality disintegrates

Each callous comment fragments the pillars of trust, the fabric of life blown up

One solitary tweet triggers onslaught, others scent blood. An army waits ready.


They caress the grenades resting in their hands, cradling the newfound power

Tyrannical possibilities lie before them

A war of words lingers. A pained frontier moves forward.


Each soldier faces an inner struggle but this becomes a collective trauma

Hurt channelled through the barrel of a gun, charged in a phone screen

Those loading the cannon felled by its recoil, all shattered by shell shock

The hater becomes the hated, becomes the hater. The predator the prey who bites back.


Locked in an eternal spiral of isolation

Their incendiary invective fired like mortar into a virtual No Man’s Land

Raw craters, like shrapnel wounds, scar souls – pain is set loose

Free in a twisted release. Warped healing from the chasms of reality.


Later – too late

Sorrow and guilt, or the fear of retribution, brings about search for appeasement

And the liars’ excuse – ‘Me and my big mouth’


A distorted insult hangs in the air, though silence clings on like a lonely survivor

Rotting words line the battlefields but decay eventually

Discarded to the backs of minds. A new target is set.

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